


"Say it."

by ZombieliciousXIII



Series: Tumblr Requests! [65]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8157188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieliciousXIII/pseuds/ZombieliciousXIII
Summary: Tumblr request: “Anonymous: Can you do a Dallon weekes imagine when the readers band and Panic! Are on tour, and they get into a friendly argument over who's band is better and it ends in heavy smut? Love your account x”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is surprisingly the first Dallon smut I’ve ever written, so I hope I do it justice and you guys enjoy! Oh yeah! make sure to add me on my new Twitter acc (Zombieliciousxi), I’ve made it as an easy way for you all to keep up with stories, ask questions, or even just talk to me!
> 
> NOTE: (YB/N) = Your Band Name

You double over in laughter, a bottle of bourbon clutched in your fist as your bandmate, Shannon, begins twerking claiming, and quote; _Lex Twerkout has nothing on this ass!_

“Shannon you’re gonna break a damn hip, you idiot!” You cackle, watching your friend do his best trying to twerk - bless him, he really does try but that boy is cursed with white-boy-hips.

Smiling like a fool you sway to Major Lazer’s rendition of _Lean On_ and dance along with the rest of your bandmates in the narrow tourbus, your band _(YB/N)_ had been asked to join _Panic! At the Disco_ on their world tour along with a few other bands, and the five of you jumped at the opportunity. Tonight was one of the few nights on tour where you could get drunk off your ass, party hard and be able to sleep through your hangover the next morning, so - least to say - you were all taking advantage of it. You had nice buzz going on, relishing in the fun feeling and plan on going steady for the rest of the night as to not pass out - it was only one in the morning, after all.

“Guys!” Alexis suddenly bellows, phone held high above her head. “Brendon texted me!”

Jack all but stumbles towards the drummer, “whaz he sayin’?!”

“T’come to their bus and party wit them!” The blue-hair teenager slurs excitedly, looking over to you. “We gotta go, (Y/N)!”

You chuckle, holding up your bottle above your head you bellow, “lets go show those amateurs how’ta party!”

The five of you scramble out of your bus and make your way towards Panic’s - much larger - tour bus, it’s been about a month into the tour and you and your bandmates have grown close with the other musicians - including Panic. There were no prima donnas  on this tour, everyone was down to earth and really knew how to have a good time - especially the guys from _New Politics,_ damn could they hold their liquor! A little more than halfway to Panic’s bus you could all already hear the music blaring out from the vehicle, the very distinct beat of Nsync’s _Pop_ filters out into the surrounding parking spot for the night.

“Oh god, I love these guys even more!” Shannon laughs, breaking out into a run and the rest of you join him until you all arrive at the bus’s door and pound on the barrier.

The door cracks open and a very _not_ sober Brendon pokes his head out, “password?”

The four if you look at each other in confusion, but your singer, Adam looks Brendon dead in the eye and says in total seriousness, “Nsync rules, with a ‘z’.”

The door swings open, and you all stare at the brunet in shock, “welcome follow morons!” Brendon exclaims, before breaking out into a laugh and walking back into the bus allowing the five of you to enter after him.

“How’d you know that?” You giggle, nudging your best friend.

“Dude, Brendon practically pops a boner every time Nsync comes on, how could that _not_ be the password?” Adam laughs, grabbing a half-empty solo cup from the kitchen table and downing the remaining liquid - hey, being on the road long enough makes you gross enough not to care about swapping spit.

“Brough your own bourbon?” A voice to your side asks, looking down to your left you see Dallon grinning at you.

“Want a drink?” You ask, offering him the bottle and the musical takes it without further prompting, taking a long pull of the amber liquid with a cringe.

Shaking his head, he chuckles and hands the bottle back to you, and you take a swig of your own.

“We gotta do shots!” Brendon bellows, and everyone - you and Dallon included - cheer like moronic teenagers.

That’s when the night _really_ starts.

* * *

 

The partying had died down, nearly four in the morning, both bands had lost many a soldier but they’d all drank valiantly before passing out - _New Politics_ boys included. Now the remaining four sat in your band’s bus, drinking whatever liquor remained and bickered like children.

“Oh please, just because you guys are bigger than us doesn’t make you the better band!” You object taking faux offense to the statement, kicking Dallon with the tip of your converse.

“Says the bassist of a band that’s been around, for what? A year? Two _at most?”_ The man teases, a shit-eating grin blinding you.

“Time frame doesn’t matter, I mean look ay _PVRIS,_ and we got asked onto this tour didn’t we?” You jab back, grinning playfully at the man.

“Doesn’t matter, none of you kids can sing as high as me,” Brendon giggles, taking another sip of beer - the singer looked about ready to topple out of his seat.

“Dude, I’d have to get _kicked in the balls_ to sing half as high as you!” Adam laughs, downing the rest of his beer.

“Hell yeah you would!” Brendon laughs, doubling forward before having to steady himself against Adam’s leg. “Oh man, I think I outta tap out.”

Dalton chuckles, “light weight!” The brunet’s bandmate yells through his own giggles, hand rested lazily atop your shins.

“Adam get Brendon back to their buss before he barfs all over ours,” you chuckle, eyes flicking down to the hand on your bare skin before looking back up at your friend.

“I ain’t no lightweight!” The singer argues, but still takes Adam’s offer of help to stand.

“Oh please, we’ve all seen you _Drunk History_ for Fall Out Boy, you barfed like a damn white girl at a frat party, Bren!” Dalton laughs, earning a playful grin and glare from the singer.

Adam chuckles and slurs out, “alright I’m gonna get this drunken m’ron t’sleep…see you in a bit.”

With that both singers exit the bus, leaving you and Dallon alone, both chuckling over each other’s idiotic friends. You chuckles die down and you take a shot right from the vodka bottle, holding the bottle out to Dallon who takes it and drinks himself - it only really occurs to you then that the two of you had been sharing drinks all night.

“I still think we trump you guys,” the man teases, turning to face you a little better.

“Alright then, why don’t we have a little game to see just who’s better?” You question, grinning mirthfully at the man.

“And how would we do that?” The brunet chuckles, watching you intently as his thumb rubs against the soft skin of your shin - intentionally or not, it felt nice.

“The only way serious musicians can decide on these things.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

* * *

 

“And here I thought you’d have the whole band set,” Dallon teases, loosening the guitar strap over his long torso.

“Hey, we aren’t big wigs like you guys, we could hardly afford to get the _Guitar Hero_ set, let alone an extra guitar,” you chuckle, swaying just the slightest on your feet as you strap on your own guitar.

“Well then, what’s the prize for the winner?”

“Title of _Best Band_ and a dare the loser has to preform,” you offer, and when the musician shrugs with a grin you take it as a yes.

The two of you play several rounds - albeit dirty, by nudging and shoving each other - and upon reaching the tenth and final round Dallon is all but leaning against you. The two of you flirted shamelessly, the dirty puns and jokes thrown at each other could have put any horny teenager to damn shame. Reaching the end of the song, Dallon tries to make you mess up, you almost cackle and push back against him.

“You’re playing dirty!” The brunet accuses, but you can hear the clear humor in his voice.

“Who? Me?” You ask, quickly stepping froward which causes the man to stumble to the side.

“Fuck!” He yelps, only just saving himself from falling on his ass.

Despite your trickery, you win by the skin of your teeth and grin manically at the musician who pouts petulantly.

“You totally cheated,” he grumbles, but puts away the toy-guitar regardless.

“Hey, we never agreed on a _fair_ game,” you tease, putting you guitar away too.

“Alright, alright, I ain’t no sore loser, what’s my dare? _”_ Dallon questions, grinning at you like a damn tease - you’re drunk enough to admit that you wouldn’t mind those lips against yours, even if only to yourself.

You chuckle and grin mischievously at the brunet, “say it.”

“Say what?”  
“Admit, that my band is the superior band!”

Dalton smirks, slowly the man walks - no, the fucker practically _saunters_ \- towards you and crowds you against the bus’s wall. It was only as he boxes you in - palms flush on the wall on either side of your head - that you notice his lips were moving, apart of you wants to ask him to repeat what he’d said, but the feeling of hot air brushing over your own stops your words dead in your throat. Dalton’s lips were ghosting over yours, teasing, and you never took Dallon for a damn cock-tease - yes, the irony is clear. Without a word you press yourself against him, closing the gap between each other and kiss him like it’s the last fucking thing you’d ever do. Sure, you’d crushed on Dallon for years, and seeing him on an almost daily basis on tour left your mind conjuring up dirty dream after fucking dirty dream about the man. However, having him here, pressed hard against you, you almost pinched yourself to make sure you wouldn’t wake up slick in between your legs - again. Through your haze of lust, you hear Dallon groan, a response to you biting and tugging at your lower lip - the sound alone makes your legs grow weaker. Repeating the action, a smirk playing on your own lips, the musician fucking _moans._

“Fuckin’ hell (Y/N)…you’r driving me crazy…” Dallon growls, tongue and teeth attacking  your neck - no doubt leaving marks, but right now you could care less.

Stripping off your top Dallon kisses and sucks at the tops of your breasts, taking his time, and it’s driving you mad. You feel his left hand traveling further South but is quickly joined by his right to undo your short, showing the barrier down you kick it away, spreading your legs. Your head thumps back against the wall when you feel Dallon’s digits easily slip past your slick folds, toying with your clit, his mouth pressed heatedly against yours and you whimper.

“Don’t mess around with me, Dallon,” you threaten, but all vehemence is gone - your words almost coming out like a damn plea for him to touch you.

“Been thinking about this since the beginning of tour… _fuck…”_ he breathes, voice nothing but lusting husk. “So wet already, s’that all for me?”

You groan at his teasing, needing some sort of relief from the tightening coil within you, but as words fail you you opt to rut your hips against his hand in way of answering - Dallon accepts your answer.

‘ _Thank fuck!’_ Is all you can think when he slips a finger into you, followed promptly by belting.

“Holy fucking _s-shit!”_

Dallon smirks at your reaction, his own hips rutting against your thigh and you skin rises at the feeling of his clear erection against you.

“You have a gun in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” You manage the joke, barely, through breathy gasps and moans.

Dalton chuckles, almost as breathless and grits out, “oh shut up.”

You grin, knowing the joke to be just cheesy enough, and Dallon being just drunk enough to fully enjoy it - the smile he tries to fight, but loses against, makes you grin all the more. Grunting you shine Dallon away, leaving the man stunned just long enough to push him into one of the bunks - Adam’s, you note - and capture the man’s lips, rocking your soaked underwear-clad hips against his boner.

“You’re wearin’ _way_ too many clothes,” you gasp, helping the brunet fumble out of his shirt and shuck off his skin-tight jeans.

Cupping Dallon’s cock through his boxer-shorts you tease, “so hard already, all this for me?” The man’s eyes darken, a devious smirk playing on his kiss-swollen lips at you jab from his words earlier.

“All for you,” Dallon grunts, stripping you of the remainder of your underwear as well as his own.

“Shit, wait a sec,” you huff, turning quickly to sift through Adam’s things.

You know your best friend well enough to know he’s a honey mother fucker, so it had to be somewhere- yes! Snatching the condom wrapper from in between a marked page of one of Adam’s books - why it’s there, you’ll never know - and tear it open, swatting Dallon’s hand away you replace it with your own and ease the rubber onto his hardened length. The brunet licks his lips, watching your actions before darkened eyes rake over your bare form, and you shiver under his intense gaze - it only urges you to do more.

“You ready?” Your whispered words are met with a prompt nod from the musician below you, and you shift to straddle his narrow hips.

Positioning yourself above Dallon’s cock you slowly ease down, relishing in the way he fills you inch by inch, and watch the man’s head snap backwards into the pillow and moan out your name. You have to arch low to keep from hitting your head, with ramrod straight arms on either side of Dallon’s head you stare down at the man who watches you, and slowly you lift your hips before snapping them back down. Wrecked moans tear from both your throats, and you keep the pace seated but oh so fucking hard, feeling the man fill you the hilt - each thrust leaves you on the brink of orgasm.

“Oh fuck yes…(Y/N),” Dallon moans aloud, gripping your hips and meets each of your movements half way.

Reaching in between the two of you, you rub your fingers against your clit, and slowly the thrusts speed up. Your face is buried in the sweltering juncture of Dallon’s shoulder and neck, biting down a whorish cry as you edge yourself, waiting for him to catch up before you go free-falling into your release.

“C-Close…fuck (Y/N) I’m so fucking close!” Dalton groans, hips audibly smacking against your thighs. “So fuckin’ good around me, shit!”

With a strangled moan you feel Dallon’s cock pulsate, at the very same moment you let go, your walls clamp around the man’s length and practically milk his orgasm out of him. Your bodies twitch and tremble through the aftershocks, your chests heaving in the small space of the bus’s bunk, but despite the sweltering feeling you both remain wrapped around each other.

“Why haven’t we done that sooner?” You ask, voice practically breathless.

“Because we’re jackasses?” Dalton offers, pulling back you stare down at the man before the two of you burst out into a fit of giggles.

“Alright, no more jackassery,” you grin, leaning down to kiss him as you slip off his flagging cock. “Wanna do this again?”

“Do you even need to ask?” The brunet chuckles, but you stare at him with an expectant lifted brow and grin. “Of course I do!”

The two of you chuckle, wrapped in each other’s arms when you speak, “say it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yup.”

“You’re band’s the better band,” Dallon huffs through a grin, holding you tighter as you being to nod off.

“Damn straight,” you mumble against his shoulder, soon after slipping into sleep.

And if the next morning Adam asks you - already knowing the answer - as to what happened between you and Dallon the night before, well, all you confess is that you own the bet of _Best Band…_ and spear him the details of getting fucking mindless in his bunk. Hey, it wasn’t like the jerk hadn’t fucked around in your bunk, at least now the two of you were even - even if Adam didn’t know it.

As for you and Dallon, well least to say, the two of you were no longer jackasses.


End file.
